


Go Fish

by shaykreth



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anders Positive, Animals Are Awesome, M/M, Veterinarian Anders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4031560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaykreth/pseuds/shaykreth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is running ragged after a long three weeks at his veterinary clinic when a stranger shows up, worried sick about a beloved pet. It is not what Anders expects. At all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Francis J. Underwood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Anders Positivity Week! This idea is from [this little list of prompts](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/post/113482576611/hot-mess-otp-aus-pt-3-i-called-the-wrong-number) (don't read unless you like spoilers).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Anders Positivity Week! This idea is from [this little list of prompts](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/post/113482576611/hot-mess-otp-aus-pt-3-i-called-the-wrong-number) (don't read unless you like spoilers).

Fluorescent lights are the _worst_. Hunching over a desk to squint at a computer screen was already uncomfortable enough. The humming of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling was about to drive Anders completely batty.

 _Aveline is never allowed to go on a month-long honeymoon ever again_ , he thought, a headache throbbing in time to his heart. For the last three weeks, Anders had found himself in the uncomfortable position of handling not only the day-to-day running of his veterinary clinic (which included seeing patients), but also managing the kennels and training school attached to the outfit.

That was easily enough work for three people on the best of days - _why did she go and marry one of the trainers?_ \- but a hurricane had recently drenched the his small town. The resulting panic meant pet owners brought every creature within a 20-mile radius to _his_ clinic.

There hadn’t even been an evacuation notice. It was barely a category 1 storm.

Of course, it had yet to stop raining (necessitating the fluorescents), but that hardly stopped anyone in the south. It rained like this all summer. It was par for the course.

Anders leaned away from the desk, knowing his mind was wandering and it wasn’t doing him any good to keep staring at the screen. The clinic had closed hours ago, one of the other vets was on-call for emergencies, and he really ought to go home. He stood, grabbing his rain coat and shrugging into it over his scrubs while he switched to a pair of galoshes.

He left his office, double-checking the locks on the kennel and exam rooms, trying to decide what local place was open for take out this late, when something slammed into the front door of the clinic, rattling the blinds and bell.

Anders nearly jumped out of his skin, yelping and immediately reaching for a lost umbrella left sitting - very conveniently - by the reception desk.

“Help!! Help! I need help!”

A moment passed before Anders realized that there was a man at the door to the clinic. An admittedly very large man with rain-slicked hair and a dripping beard, earning him a rather intimidating appearance that certainly warranted a reaction of fear that was not at all caused by simply being startled, of course not.

Another moment passed before Anders registered the panic on the man’s face, the bundle in his arms and the leash attached to his wrist which - _holy cow that was an enormous dog._

“Please! It’s Francis, I think he’s sick!”

Anders moved to the door, a voice in the back of his brain warning him that _this is how people get mugged, robbed, murdered, and otherwise maimed, Anders, you should really not let strangers into the clinic when you are all alone_.

But if an animal was hurt, Anders couldn’t just turn the man away.

He rushed into the reception area all at once, the dog pulling against his collar and leash, stumpy tail wagging furiously. Anders knelt, clicking his tongue and the dog came right up to him. His hands with to the beast’s face, pushing lips back and checking eyes for signs of illness.

“What’s wrong with him?” Anders asked, feeling along the dog’s ribcage for pain while the creature licked and huffed at his hair affectionately.

“No, no, that’s Boston, he’s probably fine, loves strangers, loves the vet, he’s a very strange dog. But Francis is in here.”

Anders looked up, seeing that the bundle in the man’s arms had been unwrapped to reveal a fish bowl containing one, solitary, upside-down goldfish.

Anders looked back to the man, the panic on his face, the strain, and though partially worried about the mental health of this strange, waterlogged man, he just couldn’t say no to someone so clearly worried about a creature.

Even if it was a $1 goldfish.

Anders stood, petting the dog - _Boston, apparently_ \- between the shoulder blades. He reached for the bowl. “May I?”

As he took the bowl, sitting it on the counter of the reception desk and leaning in close to look, Anders could see that, despite appearances, the fish was still alive, if trying to swim upside down. “What do you feed him?”

There was a pause. “Goldfish food?”

“Is that a question, or what you feed him?” Anders turned to look back at the stranger, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean, yes, that’s what he eats. That’s what it says on the can anyway. It’s the little flakey stuff.”

Anders shook his head. “That’s the problem. Those flakes are usually pretty cheap, and don’t have all the nutrients a goldfish needs to be happy. He’ll be alright, but you should switch his food out occasionally, so he gets enough fiber.”

The relief on the man’s face at confirmation his goldfish would live morphed into an expression of skepticism, one eyebrow raised. Anders quirked a corner of his mouth up, without even thinking about it. The man’s face was so damn expressive it was hard not to mirror him.

“Fiber? He’s just _constipated_?”

“Most likely. Probably a bit gassy, too.”

There was a quick second of silence before the man burst out in laughter, a deep, chest-shaking laugh that marked the last of the stress at his goldfish’s near-death. “So should I mix some Metamucil into his water?” he asked, laughing still.

Anders, chuckling, shook his head. “Frozen peas are a better idea. Especially for now, until he starts floating right again.”

He pushed the wet hair out of his face, laughter dying into a sigh. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I… I know, it’s a goldfish, it’s kind of stupid, but you know, I went to three other clinics before yours, and they all laughed at me. Told me to buy another one. You’re the only person that actually helped.” He held out his hand, smiling warmly. “Thank you.”

_Oh._

Anders felt a little tightening, a pressure in his chest. Take away the stress, the worry, add the smile, yes, this man was actually very attractive. Oh, indeed.

They shook hands while Anders said, “It’s not a problem. Part of the job. I’m Anders, by the way. Dr. Anders Sparrman.”

“Oh, ah, Garrett. Garrett Hawke.” His handshake was firm, his face open. “Seriously, thank you. What do I owe you?”

Anders shook his head, holding a hand up. “Bring that dog in next time he needs his rabies booster and we’ll call it even.”

Garrett grinned. “I just moved here, I don’t actually have a vet yet.”

“You do now.” Anders mentally high-fived himself. Not only was he talking to an attractive stranger who kept finding lovely new smiles for his face, but clever flirting happened AND a customer was obtained.

Which meant Anders would very likely be seeing Garrett again.

He was on a roll.

There was a lull, before Garrett bent to pick up Boston’s leash, then picking up Francis’s bowl. “I should go. It looked like you were closing up for the night, so…”

“You should get your fish home. Remember, frozen peas.”

“Frozen peas. Not Metamucil. Got it.”

Garrett walked towards the door, looking back over his shoulder. “I guess I’ll see you soon?”

“Guess so.”

“Great.”

“Yep.”

“Bye, then.”

“Good-bye.” _This is now officially awkward._

Garrett banged his head against the door in his attempt to open it while staring back at Anders, grinning like a fool. Once it pushed open enough, Boston lead the charge back outside into the rain, and Garrett was gone.

A car started, headlights came on, then moved across the front of the clinic as the car backed out.

Anders allowed himself a wide grin.

Yes. That was the awkward goodbye of someone who was definitely into him. _Definitely_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Some notes:
> 
> \- If Anders's last name seems familiar, it is because I took it from a real guy named [Anders Sparrman](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anders_Sparrman), who was a Swedish naturalist, abolitionist, and doctor. Seemed appropriate!  
> \- Thanks to [this little page](http://completegoldfishcare.com/goldfish-diseases/7-common-goldfish-diseases/) for the guide on what to do with a goldfish with buoyancy issues.  
> \- Yes, I'm setting this in a fictional town located in the southern United States, specifically based on the kind of small towns you find on the Gulf Coast in Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and the Florida panhandle. I haven't decided if it's actually going to be called Kirkwall yet. We'll see.
> 
> I'm working on this story actively right now, and wanted to have more done before I started posting, but I didn't want to miss out on Anders Positivity Week. Please be patient for more chapters. 
> 
> Feedback is very appreciated. Thank you for reading!!


	2. Boston Butt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett comes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! I'm so sorry this took a million years to write. I actually planned out most of the story a couple of weeks ago, but got trapped in trying to come up with a good idea for conflict. I'm just going to write from here and see what happens. Ahahaha...

The story of Anders’s after-hours fish rescue made the office rounds, accompanied by no small amount of teasing on the part of Merrill, the graduate student who handled intake and served as a general assistant to Aveline and Anders. Merrill was delighted, finding the whole thing sweet, while also politely agreeing with Anders’s self-praise as a flirting master.

Aveline returned the next week, with small gifts for the office from her honeymoon, and Merrill quickly filled her in on the “Goldfish Guy”. Aveline, ever the wet blanket, was not amused.

> _“You do realize that’s how businesses are robbed, Anders.”_
> 
> _“Tell me about it. Oh god no, not literally, Christ Aveline…”_

But the crew was back together, and while they were still dealing with the fallout of the hurricane - storm surges and evacuating people always result in lost pets and more abandoned ones - business had settled back down into something resembling normal.

Anders stood by the front desk in his usual work attire (scrubs, tennis shoes, cardigan for the always slightly-too-cold office), filling Merrill in on the status of a set of extremely pregnant guinea pigs that were ready to go home, when the bell attached to the door rang.

Three weeks after his dramatic entrance, Goldfish Guy - Garrett Hawke - came back to the clinic with his giant dog in tow. During normal working hours, no less.

Anders couldn’t help it. A smile broke across his face. “Garrett! You came back.”

Merrill, sitting behind the tall desk, gasped. “This is the Goldfish Guy?” she asked in a stage whisper. Possibly the loudest whisper Anders had ever heard.

Anders laughed, ignoring Merrill and stepping away from the desk toward Garrett, who was trying to keep Boston from running into the clinic in his excitement. “Hey,” he said, smiling back at Anders, apparently missing Merrill’s comment _(thank god)_. “I said I’d come back, so here I am! Boston is in need.”

Anders held out his hand to Garrett, who shook it - firm, strong, good - before kneeling down to pet the excited dog. “Glad to hear it. He seems in a good mood.”

“He’s always like that. I don’t know if he’s excited or dumb. Maybe both.”

Anders got back into a standing position. “Wow, aren’t you a proud parent.” He waved a hand at Merrill, who was still staring, mouth open a little. “Merrill, this is Garrett Hawke. The guy who came in with the goldfish a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, yes, we all heard about it, very dramatic. You care so much about your fish. It’s very sweet.”

She was staring, and Anders cleared his throat. “Paperwork, Merrill?”

“Oh! Oh, yes.” She started moving, still looking back at Garrett every few seconds. She gathered up the registration forms, handed him a clipboard, “Fill these out, please,” then looked over the top of the desk at the dog. “What kind of dog is that?”

“Half pit bull, half horse, I think.”

Merrill snorted, and the spell of “Goldfish Guy” was broken. Garrett became a person. “He is awfully big. Lovely, though, and so friendly! Have you had him long?”

“Since he was a puppy,” Garrett answered, reaching a hand down to give Boston an affectionate scratch between the ears.”

Anders was half listening, most of his attention on appraising a non-rain-soaked Garrett Hawke. He was still tall, yes, but in the sun his skin was much darker than Anders remembered, his hair shiny and just the slightest bit unkept. The beard was… _better_ , close-cropped and well groomed ( _'I do like a man who takes care of himself'_ ), and most importantly the veneer of panic was gone. He looked kind. In a way that Anders knew had to exist, because who cares that much for a goldfish, but now it was so easy to see.

He had laugh lines around his eyes, and was talking to Merrill in such an easy way. Most were put off by her tattoos - intricate lines that wound around her eyes and cheeks - but he just laughed about his dog and kept up the small talk. He kept his eyes on her, attention focused on the questions she asked and the answers he was giving.

_Oh._

Anders felt it again, that sharp tug in his chest, this time more subtle, more worrying. _‘This is… well. Unexpected._ ’

Anders cleared his throat. “Garrett, you can bring the clipboard with you. We’re going in here,” he motioned towards one of the exam rooms off the main reception area.

Garrett waved at Merrill. “Thanks again for the recommendation,” he said.

“Not a problem! I hope you like it. Not everyone’s cup of tea, not really, but they DO make good food that is vegan and you should really try the seaside cakes they have on Fridays.” Anders was staring at her. “Oh. Ah. I’m babbling. Sorry.”

Garrett laughed. “Thanks again,” he said, leading Boston into the exam room as Anders held the door open for him. Anders cast one last quick look at Merrill, who was giving him two thumbs up, before closing the door.

“Can you get him up on the table?” Anders asked, squirting hand sanitizer onto his hands before pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

“Uh, I can try.” Garrett bent at the knees, one arm going around Boston’s barrel chest and the other under his stomach before lifting him with a small wheeze. “Christ, you need to stop eating…” Boston was quickly deposited onto the table, tail still going 90 to nothing.

Anders glanced up at the scale, all conveniently built into the table to make his - and the lives of customers and aids who must pick up - “Wow. 87 pounds. Big dog.” - 87-pound beasts and place them on the table.

“I told you, part horse.”

Anders laughed. “How is he with vets?” Veterinarian code for “do I need to be worried about losing a finger to this horrific slobbering monster in my office”.

“No, what you see is what you get with Boston. He’s chill as fuck. Erm, uh. Sorry. Chill. He’s a chill dog.”

Anders leaned in, cautiously lifting Boston’s lips to check gums - _his tail is going to knock something off the table_ \- and was relieved by Garrett’s accurate description - _chill as fuck indeed_ \- before realizing that Garrett was standing in an awkward, post-curse silence.

“No, it’s fine. Please. When you work with animals you have to get creative with your language.”

Anders could see the tension let out of Garrett’s face, before he sat down in the chair against the wall and picked up the clipboard.

Anders continued his exam, lifting paws and checking nails and paw pads, checking fur for fleas and mites, flashing his little light to watch the dog’s pupils constrict.

You could learn a lot about a person from the way they took care of their animals. Anders took any examination very seriously, but especially if anyone he was interested in was involved. Not that he’d had any bad experiences - _at least not of the animal cruelty kind_ \- but he knew what kind of person let fleas go unnoticed. Hot spots go untreated.

_‘Please don’t let there be anything wrong with this dog,’_ he pleaded internally. _‘I haven’t been laid in eight months. I need a little grace.’_

_'And maybe a little bit more,'_ whispered the tiny voice in his chest, the part of him tightening the strings and making him  _oh_.

Anders heard Garrett set the clipboard on the exam room counter, and he was quiet for a few seconds while Anders worked.

“So Merrill was recommending The Aravel, eh?” Anders broke the silence.

“Yeah, I’m new in town so…”

“Are you vegan?” Anders didn’t mean for the question to sound so judgey. He really didn’t.

Garrett shook his head, laughing. “No, god. I love hamburgers _way_ too much. Not that, if you are, I mean, it’s not - “

“I’m not,” Anders answered, smiling. “That’s Merrill’s personal crusade. She’s a bit more … intense about her animal rights.”

_‘That’s the mild way of putting it.’_ Not that Anders had anything against veganism - though he was firmly in the “natural, family farm raised sustainable meats” camp - but that was just the tip of Merrill’s iceberg. A good kid, all around, and makes _great_ coffee, but...

Garrett laughed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I noticed that, yeah. But I’m always looking for good places to eat, vegan or not, especially if it’s as cheap as she says.”

“It is _really_ good, if you like vegan food. Their hamburgers leave something to be desired though.”

“Like cows?”

Anders chuckled. “Yes. Like cows.”

Another minute passed quietly before Anders stepped back. “He’s in really good shape. About six, yeah?”

Garrett smiled, nodding. “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t see anything alarming.” _‘Thank god.’_ “A little pudgy, but he’s neutered, so that’s normal. You said he was due for his shots?”

“Yeah, rabies booster. I also need to get some more flea drops, almost out.” Hawke reached out to pet Boston’s side, the dog in question panting a little, wide mouth open in an incredibly pleased smile. _‘This dog wants me to get with Garrett. I know it. He is a hero.’_

Tension was dropping out of Anders’s shoulders as he grabbed the shots from the cabinet, working quickly. Boston was in _really_ good health. Garrett had to be a kind man. _He must be._

“Merrill can get you the flea drops when she checks you out, just tell her what brand you like.” _Pinch, pierce, push._ Anders may not be the best at anything, but he was _good_ at giving dogs shots. Fast and painless, Boston didn’t seem to notice a thing. _‘Which could be the fact that he’s mostly pit bull but I always deserve a pat on the back for a job well done.’_ Anders stepped back, removing the latex gloves.

“All done?”

“Yeah. You’re good to go.” Anders looked up at Garrett after throwing away the gloves, making eye contact. “Thanks for coming back by.”

“I said I would.”

Ander smiled. “Are you always a man of your word?”

“I try to be.”

“So if I give you my number…”

Garrett opened his mouth to respond, stopped, then gave Anders a suspicious look, brows furrowing. “Are you trying to trick me?”

Anders laughed at that, reaching into the pocket of his cardigan for a business card and a pen. He wrote on the back, quickly, messy handwriting just legible enough to be read. He hoped. He handed it to Garrett.

“If you need anything, call. Since you’re new to town. I’ve lived here for the last 15 years, but I’m not native so I won’t give you any bullshit about how great some hole-in-the-wall ‘establishment’ is. And, obviously, if you need some more emergency goldfish help.”

Garrett looked away sheeplishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that…”

“No big deal. I was happy to help.” Anders grinned. “And I _did_ get a new customer so… not a total loss.”

Anders opened the exam room door, Garrett grabbing the clipboard then Boston’s leash, walking over to Merrill’s desk. “All done. Rabies booster, check-up. First time discount.”

Merrill nodded, fingers flying across the iPad that served as the POS for the clinic in a way he envied. She took care of the drops, gave him a new tag, and made sure Garrett was squared away. Anders stayed, waved goodbye, all while under the guise of examining another chart.

Garrett took a quick look back at the card in his hand, flipped it, stopped and looked back at Anders, who just smiled at him.

Anders did give him cell number. And he may also have written “Tmrw nite @ 7?” underneath it.

_‘Hook, line, sinker.’_

“I’ll see you later?”

Garrett starred, and for an instant Anders thought he thoroughly misjudged this situation. That maybe he was just a nice guy, and maybe he had been flirting with Merrill? Anders had been busy staring at his face the whole time. Awkwardly.

_Oh god._

“Uh. Yeah. Yes. You…”

_Oh **good**._

“Just text me.”

“I will, yeah. Okay. Yeah. Later, then. Yeah.” Garrett tripped on his own shoes, backing slowly towards the front of the office, caught himself and opened the door for an enthusiastic Boston.

“Goodbye,” Anders said, waving.

“Uh… bye. Bye.”

And he was gone.

“So…” Merrill started.

“I gave him my card. And my cell. And told him to call if he needed anything.” Anders was carefully clinical while he said it.

Merrill’s shoulder slumped, her little pout earning a laugh from Anders. “He seemed so nice, though! And he’s very handsome, Andy, really-”

“And we have a date tomorrow night.”

Merrill perked up instantly, jumping upright in her seat. “Oh! Oh, yes! Great! That’s wonderful, good job!” She reached up to grab the new patient intake forms, to start putting all of Garrett’s information into the system, but before she could start she snorted, hands going to her mouth, laughter bubbling up.

Anders frowned. “What?” He leaned over to peek at the paperwork.

“Who the _fuck_ names their dog _Boston Butt_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes, links, and references:
> 
> \- Have you ever seen a [pregnant guinea pig](http://i.imgur.com/aJSBgAw.jpg)? What about a [skinny pig](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skinny_pig)? I'll give you one guess who they belong to.  
> \- The menu for The Aravel is based on a real place called [High Noon Cafe](http://www.rainbowcoop.org/cafe.htm), one of my personal favorite places to grab lunch.   
> \- [Please use this as a reference for Boston.](http://nyctalking.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/cute-pitbull.jpg) It's pretty much 10000000% accurate. These animals are so wonderful.


	3. Ser Pounce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders gets some bad news, pre-date.

“Are you ever going to go home on time?”

Aveline stood in the doorway to Anders’s office, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. She was an intimidating woman - former military, former police, current manhandler of massive dogs. Tall, broad shouldered and a face tanned from working outside, she was as much security as she was anything else around the clinic.

Anders couldn’t imagine a better business partner.

“Unlikely, I think,” he answered, pushing his reading glasses up into his hair and leaning back in his office chair. “I can’t convince you to help with payroll, can I?”

Aveline snorted a laugh. “Not in a million years, Anders.”

“Then no. I cannot leave on time tonight. Or likely ever.”

“That’s why you’re the big boss.”

Anders sighed. “So it goes.”

Aveline leaned against the doorframe. “Look, why don’t you come by after you’re finished? Donnic was planning to grill this evening, and he always gets a little… enthusiastic.”

It was her attempt at taking care of him, Anders knew. She was a bit of a mother hen to him - and most everyone who had worked at the clinic for a considerable amount of time. Aveline’s concern came mostly out of knowing that, should Anders have his way, he would likely stay in the office until an ungodly hour, then go home, alone, eat another frozen dinner and pass out before waking up at the crack of dawn to get back to his office. It didn’t help that he lived just down the road, was single, and that his only real companion (an eight-year-old orange tabby named Ser Pounce) enjoyed car rides and refused to allow Anders to travel to work alone.

So maybe Anders’s life was a bit pathetic. But he lived for his work, for his charges, and he wouldn’t really have it any other way. Yes, it made it hard to have a real relationship with just about anyone (not that it didn’t stop him from _trying_ , or from at least having on-again, off-again flings with certain attractive men he went to college with, _hello Karl_ ). It was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

“No, really,” Anders answered, smiling a little at Aveline to reassure her. “Thank you, but I have plenty to do and there’s even real food in my kitchen for a change.”

“Isn’t that a miracle.”

“I do occasionally feel like cooking. Leftover spaghetti, here I come. Besides,” he said, a grin spreading, “I am expecting a text about my date tomorrow night.”

“Ah, right. With the goldfish guy.”

“With Garrett Hawke, yes, who also _happens_ to own a goldfish.”

A look of concern crossed Aveline’s face, and Anders knew what she was going to say before the words were out of her mouth. “Be careful, Anders. You don’t know this man.”

“And there was a period in time where you didn’t know Donnic.” She nodded her head in acknowledgement. “It’s a date, and if he offers me dinner down an alleyway I’ll be sure to refuse.”

She straightened, shifting on her feet and uncrossing her arms. “Enjoy your evening, then. Sounds riveting. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You too. Enjoy Donnic’s _meat._ Lots of _meat_.”

“Fuck you,” Aveline said conversationally, the door to the office jingling as she left, the lock clicking as she secured it behind her.

Anders was left to his paperwork, Ser Pounce snoozing on top of the filing cabinet behind his desk. After hours was the best time to go through everything; to handle payroll, go through mail, pay bills, and all the other miscellaneous tasks that he just can’t get to while seeing patients all day. Were the clinic less busy, were he able to afford another full-time vet, maybe he wouldn’t have to work quite so much. Things being what they are, it was the nature of the beast.

A quiet hour passed before the phone on Anders’s desk rang. He ignored it; this late after closing time it couldn’t be anything particularly important. His employees knew to ring him on his cell phone should they need anything.

But it kept ringing. Voicemail picked up the call three times, Anders counted; after the fourth obvious hang-up and recall, he finally snatched the phone up, irritated. “This is Anders.”

“Anders - Anders, look,” it was Bartrand Tethras, his landlord, “look, I know you’re not going to like this, and I meant to call earlier,” and he sounded _really_ drunk, “but time got away from me -”

“Bartrand,” Anders interrupted, patience running low, “just tell me what it is. Please.”

“I-it’s… I… look, I’m having to foreclose on the land.”

Anders became very still. He felt his skin grow cold, the muscles in his jaw tighten. “What.”

“There’s a problem and I can’t, uh, well it’s just, it’s what’s happening okay, but look -”

“Bartrand, is your brother there.”

Anders wasn't ready to ask questions.

“-look, it’s going to be okay,” he kept babbling, “because you’ve got a contract right and I know it’s going to be safe and it’ll take forever for the paperwork to go through and by then we’ll have it all worked out, it’s just a temporary thing, we aren’t planning to lose the land or anything we just need time -”

“Bartrand.” Anders spoke louder than necessary, sharp enough to cut off Bartrand’s stream of consciousness. “Is Varric there. I need to speak with him.”

“Uh. Uh, no. No.”

“Will you tell him to call me please.”

“He’s, well, um, he’s out of town,” _of course he is_ , “so he won’t be back until the end of the month, and I’m really sorry but this just happened and I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Anders said nothing for several seconds, dragging out the silence while his brain tried to get into gear, tried to understand exactly what this means. “Bartrand,” he said, as calm as he could manage, “what does this mean for my clinic?”

“It, uh. Well. It doesn’t… I don’t really know?”

_‘Bartrand is drunk dialing all of his clients to inform them that they no longer have anywhere to do business. While Varric is out of town. And it’s the middle of the night.’_

Anders sighed.

“Do I have to close my business before Varric gets back?”

“N-no. I don’t think so, no, there’s a lot of paperwork first…”

“Go to bed then. We can talk about this in the morning. Nothing’s going to change overnight.”

“No… yeah. You’re right.”

“Of course I am. Thank you, Bartrand.”

“Yeah, yeah. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Anders hung up, an ungentle action that startled Ser Pounce into wakefulness.

He waited three seconds.

Then he flung the phone against the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first, I'm sorry this is short. I just had to get it out there so I can stop agonizing over it. I have been stuck on trying to decide on the conflict for this story and so busy with work I haven't been able to properly think about it.
> 
> Now that's fixed.
> 
> Second, yes, chapter count! I do have a plan for this story, and now that I've got this part out the rest should come fairly easily. I'm going to try to stick to a weekly schedule, and am going to hope I can get ahead of it. Have a buffer for you kind folks, in case I get stuck again (which is so likely to happen, I'm sorry).
> 
> Finally, thank you to everyone who has left comments! I do appreciate them! Y'all are just so kind. <3


	4. Wiggums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this probably should have been combined with the last chapter, seeing as both are quite short. Eh, whatever.

Anders’s efforts at anger usually backfired. He shouldn’t be surprised that flinging his phone at the wall was a bad idea; point of fact, it never made it to the wall, the cord weighed down by a large pile of papers which did end up all over the floor of his office.

It took him an hour to clean everything up, and he spent another half an hour filing the papers away to prevent such a problem in the future. It gave him plenty of time to cool down, and by the time he bundled up Pounce for the short drive back to his house, he was, more than anything, tired.

He toed off his sneakers as soon as he entered his house, Wiggums standing in the entryway meowing until Pounce was let out of the carrier. They promptly engaged in a quick chase through the living room, while Anders went into the kitchen to toss the spaghetti leftovers into the microwave.

‘I should have gone to Aveline’s,’ he thought. ‘I would have missed Bartrand’s call. A blessing, that.’ Exhausted and calmed, he found himself simply irritated with Bartrand. He was the less-reliable half of Tethras Real Estate, LLC, but Varric usually kept him out of the bottle and off the phone when mishaps reigned.

The microwave beeped, he retrieved the leftovers and grabbed a fork.

‘Donnic is such a good cook, too.’

Anders wandered back to his bedroom, eating as he went, and it was only when he was changing out of his clothes that he discovered his phone in his pocket and remembered - “Shit! Texts!”

He had four unread messages, all from an unknown number.

7:16 hey this is Garrett Hawke  
7:17 I found your number. Obviously.  
7:19 Sorry, I’m bad at this. I’m free tomorrow after 6, is that okay with u?  
7:19 *you

Well, the day could have ended worse. Anders quickly saved the number and texted back.

9:42 Caught up at work, just got home.  
9:42 Do you know where the Emporium is? Meet you there at 7?

Anders stared at his phone for a solid thirty seconds, waiting, but nothing happened. It had been two hours; maybe Hawke had gotten distracted, or fallen asleep, or any number of other things that normal people do.

He sat his phone on his dresser and resumed changing clothes, keeping an ear tuned for the vibration of a message.

It took ten minutes, but Anders did, finally get a reply.

9:54 Yeah I do  
9:54 I can do that

The dots appeared, disappeared, appeared.

9:56 Thanks again for taking care of Francis  
9:56 And for Boston today  
9:56 Hope you had a good rest of your day

Anders smiled, settling into the old (but so comfortable) reading chair he kept in his bedroom.

9:56 No big, it’s my job. One I happen to enjoy a great deal. Do you any other pets I can help with? I wouldn’t mind seeing you around more often.

9:57 haha, no, just the two  
9:57 Boston is enough as is, I couldn’t imagine having something else  
9:57 Small horse

9:57 I get it. I have two cats myself, that’s plenty.

9:57 Cats? Youre a cat person? Oh no

9:57 I’m an all animals person, thank you very much. I just enjoy the company of cats when I go home.  
9:57 Did you not meet Pounce?  
9:58 He stays at the office with me during the day. You should say hi the next time you come by.

Said cat hopped up onto the arm of Anders’s chair, looking into the tupperware of spaghetti before being waved away. He gingerly stepped into Anders’s lap - “Agh, you are too heavy for this, lay down, please,” - before curling into a loaf.

9:58 I didnt but I will be sure to see him the next time im there

The dots popped up for another few minutes, before resolving into a picture of a goldfish in a small, bubbling tank. Anders couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face, noting how his instructions were followed to the letter.

10:01 Francis is very happy in his new tank  
10:01 He’s no longer upside down  
10:01 You could say  
10:01 things are looking up for the goldfish

Anders laughed and opened the photo, zooming in and examining the photo - it was of a tank, and tanks are reflective, so he was hoping for the chance to see some details… But his phone buzzed twice more, and he went back to his messages.

“Pounce, I’m afraid he doesn’t know how to send more than one sentence per text. This could be a problem.”

10:02 Anyway i should let u go  
10:02 Its late  
10:02 See you tomorrow

10:02 It’s not THAT late, but yes. Tomorrow.

10:03 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Date is next chapter! It's about halfway through and by far and away the longest one. Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Am I doing a satisfactory job with Anders's voice? I feel like I'm not. Blargh.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! Some notes:
> 
> \- If Anders's last name seems familiar, it is because I took it from a real guy named [Anders Sparrman](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anders_Sparrman), who was a Swedish naturalist, abolitionist, and doctor. Seemed appropriate!  
> \- Thanks to [this little page](http://completegoldfishcare.com/goldfish-diseases/7-common-goldfish-diseases/) for the guide on what to do with a goldfish with buoyancy issues.  
> \- Yes, I'm setting this in a fictional town located in the southern United States, specifically based on the kind of small towns you find on the Gulf Coast in Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and the Florida panhandle. I haven't decided if it's actually going to be called Kirkwall yet. We'll see.
> 
> I'm working on this story actively right now, and wanted to have more done before I started posting, but I didn't want to miss out on Anders Positivity Week. Please be patient for more chapters. 
> 
> Feedback is very appreciated. Thank you for reading!!


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